


kingdoms have fallen (angels be calling)

by far2late



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Conversations, BAMF Number Five | The Boy, Comic Book Science, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne is So Done, Damian Wayne is a Little Shit, Damian Wayne-centric, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Other, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Tim Drake, Tim Drake is So Done, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/far2late/pseuds/far2late
Summary: "His mother never spoke of his birth that much, not in the way that she spoke of his other accomplishments. She made it a habit to steer him away from the conversation until Damian was old enough to tell when she was doing it consciously, to which she simply started ignoring him when he asked. It certainly worked on him, since he never asked again past the age of eight.Something tells him he should have."orfreshly turned seventeen-year-old damian wayne moves to toronto. he is greeted by a family with daddy issues galore and the end of the world
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 40
Kudos: 159





	1. Chapter 1

When Damian is born, it’s to the cawing of a gaggle of crows and never-ending pouring rains. The doctor’s at the League had often claimed it as something prophetic and beautiful, saying that he would bring glory to their high and mighty group of assassins. The gaggle of crows was often regarded as a sign of mysteries of life and whatnot, so Damian was someone that was already commended by the League. 

  
This seemed not to be the case, however, not when he runs away to Gotham with his metaphorical tail between his legs and leaving behind an empire he easily could have inherited when he had legally been seventeen years old. 

Damian is sure that things would have been entirely flipped on its head if he had stayed behind. He isn’t sure that he would’ve learned love and patience and trust and all the other mushy garbage if he had been Ra’s vessel for the new generation of the League. The thought of the man possessing his body was disgusting, to say the least. He’s been of this opinion since he was a kid, despite his mother’s insistence that he would one day be grateful for the opportunity. 

His mother never spoke of his birth that much, not in the way that she spoke of his other accomplishments. She made it a habit to steer him away from the conversation until Damian was old enough to tell when she was doing it consciously, to which she simply started ignoring him when he asked. It certainly worked on him, since he never asked again past the age of eight. 

Something tells him he should have. 

When Damian is young, he is something of a sensitive child when it comes to animals. Its nothing unusual, he could say. He knows far too much about psychology to not realize his attachment to these animals is a part of his inability to connect to children or people properly. Animals are safe, they’re calm around him, and they take care of him in ways that he couldn’t expect from anyone else. 

So, when Damian is eight, he had made a friend. This friend came in the form of a stray dog that had been wandering one of their bases, localized enough that no one was willing to kill it in fear of it belonging to one of the higher-ups. The dog was a brown one with short hair and an ugly scar on its back leg that had given it a limp. 

Damian remembered naming it Yasseen, the name normal in the region and suiting the floppy-eared animal nicely. It was a poorly-kept secret that Damian would feed it the dinner scraps that he saved for when he was too full or not hungry enough to finish it all. His mother hadn’t taken much offence to his friend, which was a blessing in disguise for him. 

At least, until he had begun to… it was hard to explain. It was something that he hadn’t realized that had been happening until it was far too late to hide it. Maybe similar to imaginary friends, where Damian would talk to Yasseen as though he were a friend, and he could _feel_ a reply, something in his chest and stomach that would warm and twist uncomfortably depending on the way that he would be feeling himself. 

When he was upset about training and the course it had taken, sniffling quiet tears into Yasseen’s fur, his stomach would twist with an uncomfortable pain and make him feel some form of sympathy or empathy or even more upset than usual. On the flip side, when he was ecstatic and happy about his Mother, or even Grandfather’s praise and would say as much to Yasseen, to which his chest warmed and he felt at home in the walls of his house. 

His mother found out about his habits a while ago, when he had made the mistake of rushing to the stray after a mission he had succeeded in. He rambled on and on quietly, practically glowing with excitement until his Mother had found him in such a state and promptly dragged him away, snapping him out of his excited haze and the warmth he had been feeling so much had abruptly faded. It was almost as though it was yanked away as he was yanked from Yasseen. Damian wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he didn’t have any time to ponder it. 

Damian was forced to execute his friend the next day. A simple bullet to the head to make it fast and painless for Yasseen, yet Damian hadn’t thought he’d ever cried harder before in his entire life. The uncomfortable twist in his stomach had turned to painful cramps and had him doubling over in pain before he had made the final kill shot with tears and snot running down his face in an incredibly unattractive manner. It made him shudder when he thought back to it, rare as it was.

He was eight, and he buried the memory deep down so he hadn’t had to deal with it ever again.

He only realized that this twisting feeling in his gut and the burning in his chest was strange when he had arrived at Gotham, Drake regarding him strangely when the alley cats he often got distracted with didn’t claw his eyes out at first touch. He originally planned on writing it off as another way that Drake was incompetent before he realized that Todd and Grayson had found it strange as well, despite their less subtle ways of expressing it. It was more through sideways glances for the pair of them, and whispers that would stop when he walked into the room. 

Not for the first time, Damian thinks there might be something wrong with him past the usual traumatic upbringing. 

Despite this, he lived a fairly nice life in his teenage years. He had made a good deal of friends and family, walls softening slightly as he let himself grow vulnerable for the people he trusted. The role of Robin suited him well, after all. It was one that came with a reputation and a pull in the Justice League on occasion, so Damian was happy to hold the position. For now, at least. 

With growing came maturity, and with maturity came viewpoints that his younger self wouldn’t have agreed with at all. One of these things was his quiet want to give up the Robin mantle to grow as a person the way that Grayson had, though in a more healthy way than a fight that had him running off to Bludhaven and adopting a Kryptonian legend as a superhero name.

When Damian turned seventeen, he supposed it was time to make something of a name for himself outside of the mantle of Robin and make his official move to do so. He had grown beyond eleven-year-old fantasies and was slowly growing past his trauma to realize his attachment to the role was mostly unhealthy and an attempt to prove himself worthy to his parents. 

Grayson was naturally supportive of this move, offering to help him design the suit and name, to which he turned the offer down, absently remembering the original Nightwing costume and steering clear of that initial mistake. Drake suggested that he branch out from the usual bounds of Gotham and look for an independent place to do his work, similar to Grayson’s relocation to Bludhaven. 

It was a good idea, so Damian took it. 

Damian isn’t sure that Drake had meant that he move to Canada of all places, but he was almost legally an adult and there was little stopping him from moving since he had caught onto Skype and FaceTime. That, along with the growing wanderlust that was burning in his stomach was enough of a suggestion to keep him going.   
  


He couldn’t believe that there was a point in time where he had thought he would stay with Bruce in Gotham forever, with the way his life was progressing. Twelve-year-old Damian certainly couldn’t predict the way that seventeen-year-old him would grow, anyway. He couldn’t predict the feeling of bugs crawling under Damian’s skin, though that feeling was only associated with the image of a life stuck in the same place. 

Damian never details this to the family in full, but he is sure that there are enough context clues that they can catch onto the words that he never spoke out loud. That’s what five years around each other had done to them, anyway. Maybe any other family wouldn’t be able to read each other in a way that was closer to psychoanalysis than remembering details about someone’s face, but to each their own, he supposed. 

The initial departure was emotional on both sides, though Damian’s state was much more reserved in comparison to the others. Grayson was proud yet teary, and Father had given him a half-hug that was much more of an embrace with the intent of imprinting Damian into his mind. It was almost enough to get him teary-eyed himself, but in the presence of Todd, Drake, and Brown, he had held it back. 

When he boarded the plane, he wished he could see them again already. It was moderately frightening, the realization that he was leaving Gotham for a long time, or long enough for him to consider it a ‘going away’ thing and not a vacation. It’s not like he would be slacking off, either, so it was just… new to him. Scary, in some sort of way. He didn’t let it show, and he didn’t tell his family either. They didn’t need to know the details of his feelings once he was out of the country. It wasn’t that easy to have an interrogation over the phone, after all. Damian knew that first-hand. 

The apartment that he had bought for himself was rather small, though the ceilings were high enough for it not to be considered stuffy, and it gave a nice view of the streets below. There was roof access as well, so that was certainly a plus. Damian had already been planning to use the third room in the home as a storage place for his equipment for when he had settled down enough to get a read on the city’s crime. 

He only had a couple of boxes to move from his room in the Manor to the new apartment, so he was fine bringing them up himself, tilting his head to look past the three boxes that he had held and making his way over to the elevator, leaving a box in the doors to ensure that they wouldn’t close on him without notice. 

Damian had gone back to get the last two boxes, this time filled with his various materials for taking care of Titus and Alfred the Cat. The two of them couldn’t come, unfortunately, but Damian had kept them in the hopes that he could adopt another pet in the process of settling down in the city. 

When he turned back to walk back to the still-open elevator, he was bumped into harshly, the boxes getting knocked out of his hands as he stumbled slightly, automatically looking up to snap at the person who had knocked him over only to come face-to-face with a woman who wore an apologetic expression, already kneeling to help pick up his things. 

“I’m _so_ sorry, I really should’ve watched where I was going. Are you alright?” She asked, voice soft-spoken, which is what Damian had expected from her appearance. He nodded stiffly, swallowing back a nasty retort that would be fitting from a fourteen-year-old to remind himself he was almost an adult now. 

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” He managed to get out, sounding polite enough to pass any regular person’s assessment of him. Damian frowned a bit at the foreign feeling in his chest as he straightened up, dusting off his clothes. The woman nodded, standing up as the pet accessories had been packed back into their boxes, her hands tucked into her pockets. 

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before, are you- Are you moving in?” The woman questioned, voice genuinely curious. Damian stood back up with his things, nodding once. The burning feeling in his chest remained, almost growing stronger as the woman continued speaking.

“I’ve just flown in from the US yesterday,” He informed her. The woman nodded once, still looking slightly lacklustre to him. Her demeanour, in general, was slowly beginning to bother him, the way she seemed so lethargic despite how it was midday and how she barely seemed sleepy, either. 

“Um- I’m Vanya. I live on the second floor. If you need some help around, I could give you the rundown sometime?” She suggested, half-shrugging. Damian nodded slowly, blinking once. 

“Damian. And I appreciate the offer,” He said curtly, walking past her to go into the elevator, which still hadn’t closed, thankfully. He ignored the woman’s presence as she sighed quietly and walked away, footsteps growing faint until the elevator closed and brought him up to the second floor. As she grew farther, the feeling faded, leaving Damian to rub at his chest absently, shaking off his suspicions. 

The apartment he had rented out for the next four or five years was nestled in the very end of the halls, a short walk from the elevator as he set his boxes down outside the door, pulling the key out of his pocket and unlocking the door, peeking into his barren living space before pushing the boxes in, turning to lock the door behind him. 

He looked around the empty living room, noting with a crinkled nose the state of the floors and the dust that coated the one coffee table that sat in the middle of the room. It seemed he would have to go on something of a shopping spree to fill up the new space he had occupied. Damian hung his keys up on the hook by the door, looking around the room again. 

As he walked up to the window, he picked at the locks on them, frowning at the realization that he would have to buy a new set of locks for the home as well. Maybe he could mail Drake and ask him to send over the ones he had on his penthouse? It certainly would be helpful in the long run, at least when it came to the vigilante work. 

Damian huffed quietly, shaking his head as he wandered to the small hallway, opening the doors to the three bedrooms he had in the apartment. Two of them had windows in them, but one was on the opposite of those rooms and was barren, simply a white box begging to be a storage space for all of Damian’s vigilante gear. 

He hadn’t even thought of a new alias or thought about designing a costume yet, Damian noted absently. He could figure that all out later, after a quick shopping trip. First to purchase would probably have to be a living room set, along with a dining table. Maybe one of those nice black ones that were easy to scrub blood out of, he knew that he would need that since he would be monitoring himself now. 

It didn’t hit that he was alone for one of the first times in his life until that moment. It might’ve been stupid that it was at _that_ moment, of all things, but Damian quickly realized that this was one of the only times that he would be completely alone in his endeavours. Even with the League, he had his Mother and the medics who would stay and tend to his wounds. In Gotham, he had his siblings and Pennyworth to help him with any injures he could sustain, or provide backup in general. 

He was in Canada now, somewhere in Toronto with no one to rely on in that way. He couldn’t just find himself a Robin to keep by his side and live comfortably with the knowledge that his siblings could pop over for a quick meal or just to chat. 

Damian was alone. 

The raven-haired teen swallowed back a lump in his throat, instead opting to set down his backpack to take a seat in the middle of the empty living room, mahogany floors cool against his bare feet. He crossed his legs and set the laptop he pulled out of his bag on his lap, opening it up to search up the closest department stores to him. 

By the time he had ordered himself a matching living room and kitchen set, he had choked down the ball of emotion growing in his stomach. When he had found a nice bedroom set, his face was blank once more, only a small hint of a frown tugging down his lips. They would arrive by the end of the day, thanks to his choice of buying from smaller companies. 

With a start, Damian realized a couple of very important things he had forgotten to pack with him. For one, a set of cooking utensils and a decent amount of pots and pans, along with the majority of his electronics. He didn’t have a Tim he could harass for his large monitors and comfy computer chair, so he jotted that down on his mental list of things to buy when he went out. 

Maybe a car would be a good place to start, Damian decided. (He silently thanked his Father for the very large company he ran, knowing he would most likely be completely fucked if he jumped into this headfirst without the financial backing he had now.)

His mind made up, he gathered his jacket and the keys off the hook by the door, shaking his shoulders before exiting the empty apartment, locking the door behind him. He made another note to buy a couple of cameras to hang up around the general area, just in case. 

The darkened skies outside came as a surprise to him before realizing at least two hours had passed from when he had entered the building. Time flies in Toronto, apparently. 

Damian exited the building, walking down the streets aimlessly to see if there was any store that could catch his attention as he wandered. Most of the stores seemed to be small businesses and restaurants. There was a large house farther down the street, so far that Damian had to squint to see it. He didn’t pay it much mind, only noting to himself that he should probably map it out for his nighttime endeavours. Maybe it was abandoned? He could lease it instead, get himself a Manor and Batcave, minus the ridiculous names. 

He scrunched his nose up a bit as he walked past an alleyway, the smell radiating from it entirely disgusting before he felt that familiar tug in his chest again, the same way that it had been burning when the woman- Vanya- had bumped into him. Damian paused in his steps, peering into the alley indistinctly as he noticed a man standing in the middle, speaking loudly to open air. 

Damian could pass it off as a lunatic raving needlessly, but at the pauses in his speaking and the reactions afterwards, it was almost as though he was speaking to someone? It was hardly as though he could go up to the man and demand he told Damian what was going on and why he felt like his chest was being burnt through every time he got near him and the other woman, but he certainly could remember a face. 

The man wasn’t facing him, however, so Damian simply pursed his lips, walking away from him as the burning subsided once more. It certainly wasn’t heartburn, but it wasn’t anything he remembered feeling before, either. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he continued down the street, feeling more and more uncomfortable at the thought that something was happening to him that he had no control over. 

After maybe twenty more minutes of wandering, he chanced upon a restaurant that had been mostly empty at the time. There was one man there, sitting in a booth away from where he would need to order. It was perfect for him, Damian figured, stepping into the store with the ring of a bell announcing his presence. He tensed slightly at that before walking up to the counter, taking a seat on the barstool. 

The woman who came out from an inside room was dressed in a pink, old-timey uniform. Damian didn’t bat an eye, waiting patiently for her to come over to him. Eventually, she wandered over, a notepad in hand and a pencil as well. She gave Damian a motherly feel or something akin to an estranged aunt that people only saw once in a while. 

“What can I getcha?” She asked him, smiling kindly. Damian returned the smile with a slightly flat look. 

“A black coffee is fine. And a scone. Please,” He added to the end as a last-minute thought. She nodded at the words, scribbling them down as Damian set a twenty-dollar bill on the table, freshly exchanged from US currency to Canadian. She took it with another smile, _why was she so cheery?_ and nodded once. 

“I’ll get you your change and your meal soon,” She promised. Damian waved her off. 

“Keep the change, I don’t mind.” He ignored her words afterwards, pulling out his phone to scroll through the messages he had missed from his family. 

There were a few from Grayson asking if he had landed safely, along with the question of what he was up to and if there was anything that Damian had forgotten at home that he could bring over. It led to a small smile pressing itself to Damian’s lips, scrolling to look at Drake’s, who had wished him safe travel and to call if he needed access to any of the Police records. The only message from Todd had been a joking wish that his plane would crash and he could join the club. 

Damian had been in the middle of tapping out his replies to the others when the waitress had come back with his meal. He looked up at her, nodding a thanks before wrapping a hand around the mug of coffee carefully, sipping quietly. At least he knew that he would be coming to the restaurant more often if it stayed this quiet every day. 

The afternoon was nice for him, the teenager paying more attention to the stores that lined the streets as he made his way back to the apartment complex he lived at. He had stopped at a records store and had been delighted when he found they carried older bands, buying a few vinyl CD’s along with a record player that he had carefully set into a large bag before leaving the store. 

The skies were darkening at this point, edging on sunset as he made his way back home. The streets were slowly getting coated in a layer of snow as well, the cold weather following Spring into the early months of the year. It was similar in Gotham, though it was much gloomier. 

When Damian made his way up to the apartment, he was happy to find his kitchen set propped up by his apartment, carefully setting his bag of vinyl CD’s and a record player inside the house, dragging in the kitchen set easily. He pulled out his laptop afterwards, quickly finding a video on YouTube detailing conspiracy theories that Damian had begun to show an interest in and spent the next hour or so building his table and chairs. 

It was a nice table. Dark wood and beautiful chairs, though it could only seat up to six people. It would be too little if he had invited his entire family to the apartment in a couple of months to see his living state. Maybe by then, the place would look more lived in as Damian settled. 

The record player he had purchased was carefully set on the small coffee table that had originally been in the apartment, setting it up to play as he set his laptop down on the new dining table. Damian debated whether he should play at the moment, but disregarded it in the interest of being a good neighbour. 

If not for the entire time he was there, then he could at least behave for the first couple weeks there so he wouldn’t get booted. Damian doubted he would, considering the hefty amount of money that was put into keeping the apartment there for the next couple of years. 

At this point, Damian had been in Toronto for little over a day, with no sleep. Old habits were hard to break, as he hadn’t been sleepy as one am crept up on him, instead deciding to put his efforts into accessing the Police records for his peace of mind. It would be helpful when he had finally started patrol and decided to find himself his own James Gordon to get tips off of. 

Once more, Damian was reminded of how hard it would be to get his status as a vigilante started up. It wouldn’t be nearly as hard as it was for Batman, but it seemed as though there was a never-ending list of things he needed to remember to get in terms of resources and reputation. 

He wasn’t sure that people would just trust a stranger that showed up and decided to help out with crime, anyway. Even though his pride had him insisting that the people would be grateful he decided to help, there was no telling what the reaction of the masses would end up being, despite how he wanted to pretend that he could win over the small portion of the city he had decided to claim as his own. 

(After some research, he decided that trying to tackle the entire city of Toronto on his crime-stopping crusade would be far too much time and effort compared to his resources and time. Not to mention that he would have to get a job as well, and not live off of Bruce completely. He didn’t have much interest in running the company now that Drake had been doing such an exemplary job and he had grown past his twelve-year-old urges to be the best at everything. 

Be what may, Toronto was much too big. He assumed it could be best if he stayed in the worst part of town to fight off the worst and darkest forces that would come. It was something akin to the way that Todd had decided to block of Crime Alley from the other Bats as his own territory. The silver lining in this seemed to be that there were no other vigilantes to fight here.

Damian didn’t realize how stressful the Gotham environment was until he came here, and realized he was thousands of miles away from the Joker. He felt a little guilty for the relief that flooded him at the thought of it.)

Bordering two am, a sharp knock echoed at his door, immediately grasping Damian’s attention as he shot up, reaching into his duffle bag to grab a large sword he had fit into it. He crept up towards the door, unsheathing his katana as he looked into the peephole to find an old man standing in its view. 

Damian narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the man as anyone he could’ve met in his walk about the city, nor any business owners he had ordered from. As he deliberated what to do, another knock came. 

“I cannot wait all day! This is urgent, cease your worrying and open the door.” Damian scowled, shaking his hair out of his eyes as he glowered at the door, as though that would make the man behind go away. He stepped forward reluctantly and opened the door slightly, enough for his face to be seen through the crack. 

“And who might you be?” Damian questioned, voice cold as the man straightened up, eyes holding an impression of importance in them. 

“Sir Reginald Hargreeves. And you are Damian Wayne, correct?” Damian’s distrust grew at the words, narrowing his eyes as he straightened up, grip on his katana growing tighter. 

“How do you know that?” He hissed. Reginald blinked at him, huffing once. 

“I make it a habit to keep track of those with peculiarities such as my pupils had.” Damian tipped his head to the side slightly, examining his face for any hint of a lie or break in character. After a couple of minutes, he sighed out an exasperated noise, opening the door wider to invite him inside. 

“And what do you mean by peculiarities?” Damian questioned as he closed the door, hand still firmly on his katana as he approached the table the man had taken a seat at. The man- Reginald Hargreeves, Damian reminded himself- sat up where he had been sitting, digging into his pocket for a red notebook and setting it down in front of him. 

“Surely you have heard of the Umbrella Academy?” Reginald questioned, flipping open his book. Damian lifted his chin slightly, haughtiness that had been burnt into him returning automatically. 

“I haven’t,” He said simply. Reginald didn’t show if it had interrupted his thinking process, speaking after he had given his answer. 

“In 1989, there were forty-three children born with powers around the world. I had collected six of them, and the other thirty-seven were unaccounted for. You are descended from one of these thirty-six.” Damian frowned at the explanation, scoffing. 

“You expect me to believe this? Bruce Wayne is not a _meta,_ and neither is my mother. I suggest you leave my apartment if you continue to suggest such ridiculous things,” He practically spat, to which Reginald showed no reaction. 

“I assume Ra’s Al Ghul had kept your mother under his thumb? She has lived a much longer life than you could ever imagine, of course. These forty-three children have come from somewhere, and it was not of pure coincidence that they came about the way they did. The Lazarus Pits are what your group is famous for, after all.” Reginald continued as though Damian hadn’t spoken. The familiar name had him brandishing the katana, pointing it directly towards the man as he snarled. 

“I don’t know what you are trying to _suggest_ ,” He said, voice dripping with contempt, “But I suggest you leave.” Reginald looked at him, irritated with the tone he took. 

“We don’t have time for these foolish games of yours. You owe a duty to the people of this world,” He declared, standing up from where he had been sitting as he shut his book, tucking it away. Damian scoffed again. 

“And what would you mean by that?” He said, suspicion dripping from his words. Reginald didn’t do much in reply, just taking a letter out and setting it down on the table. 

“The details are in the paper. Take from it what you will, but remember that you _must_ help the world. It is your duty,” Reginald warned, exiting the apartment as he walked past Damian and his weapon, the door shutting gently behind him. Damian stared at it for a moment before sighing, rubbing at his face as he dropped the katana on the ground, moving to lock the door as he grabbed the letter, glancing at the signature on the paper. 

The implication that the League had something to do with forty-three magic children was ridiculous as a concept, and not something that Damian could even picture in his mind. Damian was much more sure that if he had delved deeper into the League he would find research on the Lazarus Pits rather than _metas_ , but at the same time… 

  
He knew too much. There wasn’t any way that the man would have known what he did simply by observing the League or working with them. His mother’s age was something that no one discussed, after all, nor her supposed immortality. Only Ra’s had anything to do with that, but it didn’t make sense he would tell an old man in Canada about League business. 

Damian glanced at the letter, furrowing his eyebrows before sighing again, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground once more, carefully opening the envelope to take out the parchment inside. 

  
  
  


_Dear Mr. Wayne-Al Ghul,_

_This letter should come as no shock to use, nor should the contents of it if our meeting had gone as I had planned. These are simply the details that delve into what I have told you at our initial conversation._

_Firstly, the League had long since been experimenting on humans before you were born, before the era of technology we have reached now. I’m sure you are aware of this, as you were set to inherit the League at your age. I don’t know how much they have progressed as of now, but they certainly affected the forty-three children who were born. Your League have gone in-depth when it came to things such as this, I expected nothing else. Their experiments rivalled my own, though I had focused on animals before I had gone straight to human gene manipulation. The Lazarus Pits that the League has a monopoly over had certainly assisted in these experiments, but how much of this magic and science that affected the forty-three children is unknown._

_Secondly, you might not have been one of these children, but you were affected in the same way they were when they were born. Due to your close ties to the League, this was inevitable, as set heir to the throne that is Ra’s Al Ghul’s crown. I’m unsure once more how much of this was due to the environment you were raised and physical experiments, but your soul is tethered to the forty-three others who were born before you. It would not be a stretch to consider you may have powers of some sort as well, undetectable by a scan. This is not science, after all. It’s a mix of science and magic and hell that was manipulated to make specifics but failed at that. There is no telling what you are capable of._

_Lastly, the world is ending. I am sure of this entirely, and if my pupils continue the way they have been, the apocalypse will not be stopped. I am sure of this, and I am recruiting you to help my children in the case that they stray from their duty to the world. Your worth ethic under the wing of Bruce Wayne and Batman respectfully have marked you as the only choice to turn to at this time. The pupils I had raised are not ready for this task, but you are._

_I ask that you keep an eye on the news, and report to the Umbrella Academy and ask for Pogo. He will know of you, and he will justify your appearance to the pupils who will return in time._

_The world’s fate rests with you._

_Signed,_

_Sir. Reginald Hargreeves._

Damian huffed out a disbelieving laugh, eyes wide as he stared at the letter, reading it over and over to make sense of the words that had been scribbled onto the papers. Damian shook his head once, rubbing at his forehead as he looked at the paper once again. 

An apocalypse was just… Damian didn’t even want to think about that. His head hurt already and it was two am and he was not prepared to think like this after the very long day he had.

It was ridiculous, probably one of the stupidest things that Damian had heard in his life. And yet, the idea that his soul would be tethered to forty-three of those people had him thinking of the burning sensation in his chest that he felt when he came upon the two people from earlier. Damian stared at the paper for another couple of minutes before standing up and making his way to his laptop, leaving the letter on the table. 

  
“What the fuck,” Damian mumbled to himself as he wiggled the mouse to wake up his laptop, “Is a fucking _Umbrella Academy._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

About half-an-hour of Googling and keeping a grip on his suspicions, Damian made the consecutive decision to call someone back at Gotham about the information he had just gotten dumped on him. He figured that getting Oracle to double-check his work would be a good idea in the long run, in the case there was something under the surface of the Umbrella Academy that he could potentially be leaving himself vulnerable to. 

The Umbrella Academy was apparently what the name suggested; an Academy, but private and institutionalized to run on its own, with seemingly no tutors or teachers but Reginald Hargreeves himself. Along with that, there was the fact that there were seven students at the Academy, not six as Hargreeves had mentioned. Damian found the answer to that question quickly after reading over the description for an e-book detailing the seventh student’s life as an ordinary member of the Umbrella Academy. 

Damian wasn’t going to waste his time reading the woes and self-pity of someone who had let themselves stay miserable and not try to prove themself to their father or mother the way he had to, but the logical choice was to suffer through the pages so he would get a grasp on who exactly he would be expected to get near when whatever Hargreeves had been planning came to pass.

He didn’t have time for that at the moment, but maybe if Hargreeves had given him a bit more time before doing whatever stunt it was to get his attention, he could purchase the book and sit down to analyze it. Although it was written about their childhood, Damian knew all too well how being raised could affect someone’s psyche in the long run. It wasn’t pretty in the slightest, he could attest to that.

He wasn’t sure if he would end up helping the old man or not yet. The idea of an apocalypse was starting to solidify in his mind, along with the blatant poking at his pride and the duty he owed the world. Along with the League’s involvement, and he was almost the perfect person that the man would turn to in case of this. He wasn’t exactly sure  _ how  _ he would help, but Hargreeves seemed confident that he would be able to, despite what obstacles may come when dealing with the six superpowered pupils he had. 

The book would most likely help with that assessment. What was funny to Damian was that the author on the cover happened to be his new neighbour, which was beginning to raise his suspicions. It seemed too convenient that the moment he entered the town, he would be greeted with a command to save the world and some fuckery in the League he had no idea had occurred behind his back. 

His neighbour had seemed nice enough, though. Her name was Vanya if he recalled correctly, and she just seemed a little boring. Short and unthreatening as well. It didn’t seem like she could be planted there by the League, but there was no telling what tactics they would resort to if they truly had been setting this elaborate scheme up to trick Damian. 

He would need his family’s help, Damian decided.

Damian shook his head, hair moving away from his face as he pulled up Tim’s custom video-calling service on his laptop, scrolling through his small list of contacts to call directly to the Batcave. If he had the time zones right, then the others would have converged to the cave directly after patrol and all be gathered for his call. It was important, after all. It would do no good to keep some of them out of the loop others with too much information. If the news of an apocalypse was true, then it would be all hands on deck. 

He sat back on his chair, running a hand through his shaggy hair as he waited for the call to connect to the Cave. After a moment, the screen flickered to life, showing Drake standing at the computer, cowl and domino off of his face though he still had the uniform half on, the bottom half on and the top half tied around his waist. A small grin spread up his face at the sight of Damian, opening his mouth to start some quick-witted banter before Damian interrupted. 

“What can you tell me about the Umbrella Academy? And Reginald Hargreeves involvement with the establishment?” Damian said, the tone of his voice making Drake straighten up as he realized that the seventeen-year-old was serious about the situation. He hummed to himself as he typed away on the computer rapidly, eyes off to the side to focus on another large monitor that had been in the Batcave. 

“Umbrella Academy. Some superhero training school, six students? Nope, seven. And Reginald Hargreeves is the headmaster and the kids… adopted parent? What’s this about, Dami?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Damian said on reflex, cracking his knuckles as he rolled his neck slightly, preparing himself for the conversation that he knew would ensue. “Gather the others, Drake, this is important.” Drake gave him a strange look through the screen, not one that Damian could interpret through the pixels of his laptop as he called for Bruce and Grayson to come over to the monitors. 

“What’s up, Damian?” Grayson asked, an easy-going smile on his face as he stood behind Drake’s chair, arms crossed loosely. “Jason’ll probably swing by in a bit if you wanna wait for him? Catch up a bit.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a friendly call,” Damian said, lips pursed as he watched Grayson and Bruce become more alert at the words.

“What do you mean by that?” Bruce asked, already undressed from his vigilante persona, sweats and a t-shirt on as he stood, imposing as ever. Damian sighed, rubbing at his face with a hand absently. 

“Were you aware of a Reginald Hargreeves involvement with metas? And the League, as well?” He asked, examining his expression through the screen to see a change in his emotions. The most he got was a frown, which gave little away in terms of what he knew. 

“No, where are you getting this?” Grayson interrupted, a concerned grimace growing on his face. Damian took this as a prompt to start speaking. 

“Around half-an-hour ago, a man claiming to be Reginald Hargreeves came to my doorstep. He told me that he needed my expertise to keep his former meta pupils in line. He told me to keep an eye on the news and gave me an address to go to, saying I would know when to go. I wouldn’t have humoured him for so long if he hadn’t given me evidence that he was connected with the League as well. Apparently, they were involved in a series of human experimentations that had tied in with the Lazarus Pits’ magic, and I had been… unaware of these experiments.”

After he had finished his short spiel, he was greeted with silence from the three, along with the clacking of a keyboard as Drake typed away at the monitors, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“How much do you trust that Hargreeves was involved in the League?” Bruce asked seriously. Damian wet his lips with his tongue, thinking back on the information that he had been given. 

“I’m confident he’s not lying about that aspect,” He worded carefully, “But I don’t know how much I should trust about the rest of his story. Namely, the apocalypse he had said was up to me and his pupils to stop,” Damian finished. Drake looked away from the monitors to the side, making eye contact with Damian. 

“Apocalypse?” He questioned. Damian nodded. 

“End of all human life as we know it, apparently. I’m not sure what to make of it, but considering what else he had told me concerning the details of his story and how they’ve lined up, I’m inclined to believe it. The superpowered children he had raised checked out, despite the fact he had told me there were six when there were seven and one of them was simply born normal,” Damian detailed, speaking out-loud mostly to organize his own thoughts. 

“Is there anything else he told you?” Bruce questioned. Damian thought back to the words in the letter detailing his own exposure to the League’s experimentation, then to Bruce’s strict rule that had echoed in his mind. 

_ No metas in Gotham.  _

He shook his head, speaking again. 

“Only that I come to the Academy sometime this week. Said to keep an eye out on the news, and that I’ll know when to come.” 

“And if it’s a trap?” Bruce pressed. Grayson shook his head from where he stood, patting Bruce’s back once. 

“From what I’ve heard, it’s certainly a stretch to consider this a  _ trap  _ of all things.” He murmured, looking to be deep in thought. 

“Damian’s turned seventeen, how are you sure that Ra’s hasn’t planned this to get his heir back?” Damian snorted slightly, drawing Bruce’s attention. 

“Ra’s has long since given up on me since Drake’s involvement in your retrieval from time years ago. If anything, the League considers me a traitor and would sooner kill me than capture me.” The bitter amusement was not lost in his tone as he spoke. “And should this be a trap, I am much more suited to tackle it myself now than I had been when I was younger.”

Damian paused before speaking again, voice slightly hesitant this time. “I… believe that this is something I will have to do, despite what consequences it may hold for me in the long run.” He finished lamely, awaiting the other’s reactions to the news. 

Drake examined him through the screen for a long few moments before standing up, moving to remove the rest of his costume as Bruce and Grayson’s eyes followed him. 

“I’m flying over,” He said simply, gaining protest from both sides of the screen, mostly from Grayson, however. 

“Stop,” Drake warned, speaking up before Bruce could start lecturing him. “I have years of experience over him, but I’m a smaller part of the vigilante community here. Red Robin dropping off the radar for a couple of days won’t affect much crime, and I’m sure Batman and Signal can make up for that while I’m away. I can work on the company remotely, or just take a leave of absence for the second time in five years. You can’t convince me not to go.” 

Bruce sighed, rubbing his forehead absently as though that would make his worries go away. Grayson was wearing a frown at this point, though he didn’t speak up to protest. Drake nodded to himself once when he saw this, walking over to the monitors again. 

“I’ll be there first thing tomorrow night. Try not to die by then.” It was a weak joke, but Damian cracked a half-smirk anyway, nodding before clicking the end call option. He looked at the time in the corner of the monitor, seeing it was three am at this point, nearing three-thirty. He considered making himself a cup of tea before decided against it. Peppermint always left a nasty taste in his mouth when he had woken up, despite his brushed teeth. 

Drake’s involvement in the issue was not something that Damian could have predicted, really. He was expecting Grayson, maybe, or Bruce to tell him to come back to Gotham immediately. Maybe he had been shut down by Drake’s insistence to come along and help, letting him stay in the new city he moved to. 

Damian was not too proud to admit that Drake’s help would be vital when it came to how he would tackle the situation, along with the added bonus of someone to talk to instead of himself when he was bouncing ideas off the walls of his empty apartment. Maybe he could do some more shopping for tomorrow, just to prepare. 

He sighed and shut the top of his laptop, going over to pull a sleeping bag out of his duffle bag. 

God, he needed some fucking  _ sleep.  _

… 

Airports were loud, busy, and not at all somewhere that Damian wanted to be at the moment. In the interest of being a good brother, however, he assumed one of the things he had to do was be there when Drake’s flight came in. 

His day was similar to the previous, save for the fact that he had the foresight to get two mattresses before Drake had arrived, setting up one of them in the guest rooms and the other in the main room. It was a bitch to track down his package and where the couches he had ordered were, but he eventually got a time frame, expecting them to arrive in five days. Just his luck that he ordered from a slow service, but such were the sacrifices to be made when not in Gotham. 

Along with that, he had furnished his own room a bit more, sticking up a map of the subway tunnels on the back of his room door in the case that he would need it. Damian also moved his record player into the room, though lack of a table had him placing it in the corner of the room until further notice.

To his delight, he was able to squeeze in some time to grab a coffee and scone from the same diner he went to yesterday. It was about ten minutes before he planned on leaving for the airport, so he ordered a coffee for Drake as well, investing in a travel mug at the convenience store nearby for good measure. 

It was the least he could do for Drake, considering he had taken the time to come over and help Damian with the nonsense he was greeted with when he came to Toronto, even though he was now a twenty-two-year-old adult with responsibilities and a major company to run. If he was any more of a sap, he would say it warmed his heart, but the thought of that made him want to throw up his breakfast. 

The bus system was a nightmare to figure out, considering he hadn’t had the time to buy a car and couldn’t stand around waiting for a taxi to show up. He was at least glad that he had the foresight to grab change before leaving, pockets practically jingling with every footstep he took. Damian kept his hands tucked into his pockets for the main part, the warmth of his jacket enveloping his hands from the cold. 

The bus driver looked ready to throw him off the bus when he stepped in before Damian had pulled out what had to be ten dollars worth of change from his pocket, making sure to grab a transfer as well. The TTC had taken him at least an hour or two to navigate, along with Damian’s checks on the coffee he got now and then. 

So here he was, waiting in a busy airport with a travel mug of decent coffee for his rich, smart, and unbearable brother with the promise of an apocalypse to bond in Toronto. Joy. 

Damian caught sight of Drake exiting one of the many exits, the other seeing him standing by himself in the middle of the terminal with what looked like a fond smile. He made his way over, running slightly to sling an arm around Damian. He scowled at the action but held himself back from throwing him off completely. 

“Nice to see you, Dami,” Drake greeted brightly, as though he was doing this specifically to get on his nerves. “Only been a day and I can say for sure that I missed you a whole lot. Been so quiet in the Cave without you yelling about honour.”

“Take your coffee and shut up,” Damian muttered, shoving the travel mug at Drake, who had the decency to look grateful. He gave him a side-glance, sniffing the coffee. 

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” 

“Because if I were poisoning you, I wouldn’t do it in an airport terminal.” Drake shrugged at the words, mumbling a ‘fair enough’ as he took a sip, eyes widening as he did so. The effect of the coffee seemed instantaneous, Drake’s eyes brightening up from their previously sleepy haze. 

“Where’d you get this? I want like, ten more cups,” Drake said, bouncing alongside Damian as he continued to walk forward, ignoring the arm around his shoulders. 

“A restaurant near my apartment. I’ll take you there when the world isn’t ending,” Damian said dryly, gaining a smile from Drake. 

“Was that a joke? God, Toronto’s changed you,” Drake teased, steering the two of them over to the baggage claim, finally removing his arm from Damian’s shoulders to keep an eye out for his suitcase(s). Damian moved back slightly from Drake, hands shoved safely into his pockets as he watched Drake drink his coffee. At least that had managed to put him in a good mood after what had to have been a semi-tiring flight. 

Drake eventually perked up as a red suitcase showed up, alongside a dull gray one. They were both on the smaller side, though the gray one looked much more heavily reinforced than the other, so Damian could assume that he had the majority of his computer systems in there. The ones he used overseas, at least. 

He grabbed the suitcases, Damian taking the red one from him so he could drink his coffee before gesturing for him to follow, the lanky man following after with a half-smile on his face. 

Drake had been doing a lot better than he had when Damian had first arrived in Gotham nearly five years ago, which wasn’t really surprising to him. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he wasn’t around for most of his downwards spiral concerning his friends and family and his upbringing in general, but he knew enough to know that this was a far improvement from how he had been before. 

For one, he hadn’t prioritized Red Robin over all else this time around, despite still patrolling Gotham. It was a delicate balance, but one that Drake had been handling impressively. As for the company, Bruce was helping more with it than he had before but still entrusted the younger to sit in with the Board in place of him. 

Damian wasn’t sure what had happened concerning the Teen Titans, but he did know that they were still civil towards each other, at the very least. He could say he was proud of Drake, but he didn’t want to throw up in the middle of the airport. He supposed that all the sudden revelations had to do with the fact that he knew the world was ending now, or that he knew the world was ‘ending,’ but it was fine in his books if he didn’t have to say any of them out loud. 

“Are you gonna call an Uber or should I?” Drake interrupted Damian’s thoughts, the other pausing at the mention of the service. 

“I knew I forgot something,” He muttered, pulling out his phone. “I got it, don’t worry.” Drake seemed to have caught the first bit of his sentence, a grin spreading up his face. 

“Did you forget that you could Uber here or something?” Drake joked, amusement clear in his voice. 

“No!” Damian snapped, scrolling through the app to order a ride as he furrowed his brows. He cleared his throat, voice lowered. “I intended to take the bus. Get familiar with the area.” 

Damian pointedly ignored Drake’s cackles and walked out of the airport with his red bag, the other following through barely held back giggles. Drake calmed down by the time he had caught up with Damian, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited for the Uber. 

After a couple of minutes, a car matching the description he had been given pulled up to the airport, Damian and Drake climbing in after packing the suitcases in the back carefully. Drake was extra delicate with the gray suitcase, further proving Damian’s theory about the computer system packed in it. 

“You mind if I keep the radio on?” The driver asked once they had settled in. 

“No, it’s fine,” Drake reassured the man, who hummed and turned up the volume on the news station that had been playing quietly. 

“ _ -The news that one of the world’s most eccentric billionaires has passed away tonight-”  _ Damian and Drake sent each other slightly alarmed looks before the rest of the report had played, quickly assuaging their worries. 

_ “-Reginald Hargreeves was found in his home, causes of death unknown at this moment.”  _ Damian sighed quietly, relieved as he nudged Drake slightly at the mention of the name, though the older had already taken note of it. He nodded once to Damian, which he took as a promise that they’d discuss this further when the two of them were at his apartment. 

The rest of the ride had passed in silence, though the driver changed the stations every now and then, alternating between a classic rock station and the news. By the time they had reached the apartment, Damian was buzzing with nervous energy, manifesting itself in the way he bounced his leg against the bottom of the car.

Bills paid and suitcases gathered, Damian made his way into the apartment, pressing his FOB against the locked door of the building and holding it open for Drake. They entered the elevator, going up to the second floor. Damian could faintly hear the violin being played from one of the neighbours he had on that floor. 

It was safe to assume that it was the woman from yesterday, who was apparently part of the Academy. He remembered her holding a case of some sort if his memory was accurate. He could at least appreciate the fact that his neighbour was talented in classical music rather than the electric guitar, but it was such a small mercy that it seemed insignificant. 

Drake set his suitcase down on the ground by the living room wall, the gray one left standing as he opened the red one, pulling out a pair of socks to tug over his feet. Damian hadn’t really noticed the cold floors, but his own homemade socks from Grayson had probably helped with that. 

In the meantime, he put some water on the kettle, waiting for it to boil as he got a bag of tea out from the box he had purchased, set on the counter as he had been in a rush this afternoon. The time it took to make his tea had been sufficient for Drake to get organized, looking much warmer with a sweater pulled over him as he made his way over to the table, taking a seat where Damian had been researching the night before. 

He made his way over, a mug of peppermint tea in hand as Drake began speaking.

“So, he told you to go to the Academy after something big happened?” Damian nodded at the words, setting down a cup of tea on the table as he took a seat by Drake. He took a slow sip, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“That something was his death, apparently. I assume he wants me to show up at the funeral,” Damian remarked as Drake opened up the younger’s laptop, eyes narrowing as he started typing quickly. 

“And have you read up on any of these kids he had to teach?” Drake asked, pulling up a multitude of files onto the monitor. 

“I hadn’t had the chance. One of them lives down the hall, is all I know. She’s the only non-meta of the group. She’s written a book about her childhood as well, I was planning on analyzing it until the news tonight. I think I’ll have to settle for something short of a quick skim,” Damian told him, stirring his tea absently as he watched Drake pull up a photo of a large blond-brunette man, a separate window filled with writing popping up alongside it. 

“Six of them, yeah? The first one up is Luther,” Drake said, pausing in his typing to look over the profile. “Super-strength, apparently.” 

Damian hummed noncommittally, taking another gulp of tea before sitting up to take a look at the screen. “Interesting. Anything else about him?” 

“Nothing relevant, ‘cept that he’s been on the Moon for a bit. The last couple of years, it looks like,” Drake dismissed, pulling up the next profile. This time, it was a man who had scarring over one of his eyes and dressed in all black. The picture seemed to be a mugshot rather than a candid like the last one. 

“Diego Hargreeves. Knife throwing and indefinitely holding his breath? But the knife-throwing is like, crazy accurate,” Drake listed off, Damian nodding along. 

“Wouldn’t be too hard to incapacitate. Just get him away from weapons.” Drake hummed in agreement, though it was half-hearted.

“Has some experience in police training, but he was kicked from the program.” Damian nodded, watching Drake pull up the next profile. 

“Allison Hargreeves. Rumoring? What… Oh, that makes sense. She can control people. With the phrase, ‘I heard a rumour.’” Damian sat up at that one, slightly alarmed. 

“Like Mad Hatter?” Drake nodded a grimace on his lips. 

“Without the tech, yeah.” Damian nodded slowly, taking another sip of his tea. It was made his mouth feel kind of minty at the moment, but it warmed his chest and eased the small ball of growing anxiety in his stomach, so he paid the flavour no mind. Mind control was always a tricky thing when it came to the Gotham vigilantes. Damian couldn’t count on his fingers and toes the number of times he or someone in the extended family had been mind-controlled and pit against the other. It was dangerous, but maybe manageable when it came to magical ways that it was done and not technological. 

“Would the mental shields we built up with the Justice League help out with that?” He questioned. 

“It might,” Drake answered, “But we can’t take chances.” Damian nodded at the words, leaning over Drake’s shoulder to see the next couple of people. 

“Klaus Hargreeves. The Seance? Talks to the dead,” Damian read off, Drake humming once. It wasn’t a very useful skill when it came to fighting unless the ghosts were willing to help him by being lookouts or whatnot. 

  
“He dropped off the radar, though,” He pointed out. “So there’s no telling what he could’ve been up to while he was away for what, ten years or so?” 

Damian frowned slightly, shaking his head as he nudged Drake, who took it as a silent cue to continue. A click later and he had pulled up another profile. The boy in the picture was much younger, looking to be a teen compared to the other adults that had been in the photos that had been paired with the profiles Drake had pulled from some files he had hacked his way into with a vengeance. 

  
“This guy doesn’t even have a name, it’s just Five,” Drake said, voice slightly bored as he read it off. “Spatial jumps, so like, teleportation. But he’s been missing for almost two decades.” Damian waved it off, Drake skipping to the next profile. 

  
“Ben Hargreeves. Deceased in his teen years,” Drake read off, frowning a bit as he shook his head. 

“And Vanya.” 

“My neighbour,” Damian supplied helpfully. 

“Yeah, her. Non-meta, right? Wrote that book about how it was growing up the way they did.” Damian hummed an agreement, standing up to put his mug in the sink, rinsing it out first. 

“I’ll be heading over to the Academy tomorrow, then. I assume that’s when the funeral will be. He gave me instructions to ask for Pogo, and that he would know who I am.” Drake turned to face him, standing up from his chair with a small grin. 

“We can make it a family trip,” He said, clapping his shoulder. Damian frowned, looking him over once. 

“I’m perfectly capable of completing this task myself, Drake, you don’t need to accompany me to-” Drake cut him off at that point, which was a bit rude, but he didn’t have a chance to say as much. 

“Please, I came all the way to Canada for you, now you’re trying to get rid of me? Gonna have to try harder than that,” Drake said good-naturedly, gaining an irritated sigh from Damian. 

“Don’t get in my way when we’re there,” He said stiffly, picking up his laptop and shuffling to his mostly empty room. “Your room is the second door on the right.” 

“Love you, too, Dami!” Drake called from the kitchen. Damian almost snorted at the words. The man had nothing short of a death wish and a shaky will to live, which did not work too well when in close contact with each other. It was more self-destructive when he was younger, but maturity and working out family matters slowly over the past couple of years had certainly helped in the matter of bringing them all close to each other.

It certainly helped Damian adapt to the teasing his siblings gave him more easily. He was less likely to snap at them out of nowhere, recognizing them as jokes and not as attacks on his personal character. That was something his younger self didn’t manage very well, though he was much better now when it came to that. Drake was practically asking for it at this point, though. Damian thought it’d be much easier to run him through with a katana, save himself some trouble. 

Damian supposed he could dismiss the remark for now. They had a world to save, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be timdami + the hargreeves meeting! i hope ur liking this so far its really fun for me to write, considering ive wrote 11k for this story in the span of two days haha. id love to know what u think, please feel free to comment! hope u all have good days <3

**Author's Note:**

> sooo... this kind of just happened. i wasn't planning on it to be anything past a one shot but i just kept word vomiting until i ended up here. with 6k words written for the first chapter. so! i hope you'll enjoy this as i write it, and i hope you'll overlook the shitty comic book science as i develop this plotline <3


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